Daughters. (*sigh*)
My nine year old, late last summer, all bent out of shape because I was knocking apart the decrepit swing set that was all bent and rusted. Said I was "tearing apart" her memories, of all the fun she had had on that thing, with family and friends. Tried to explain, then rationalize, then mollify her, all to little avail. But I had work to do, I finished up, and I carted it off to the dump.
Well, yesterday, in our so-called 'mud room', there had lain a braided rug these many years, which had seen it's share of mud, spills, and dog and rabbit pee, it's bouquet gradually becoming more resistant to the carpet shampooer, until the redhead finally issued an executive order. I dutifully rolled it up and lugged it out of the house, and yes, of course, to the shrill protests of afore-mentioned daughter, accusing me all over again of 'ruining her memories', because she had spent so many happy hours playing on that rug.
This one was simple. "It stinks. It's going. We can get another."
Woe be to the dad who underestimates the female resolve.
I got the glare and the cold shoulder for the rest of the day and evening, only to find her going off to bed with fresh recriminations and eyes full of tears.
So I followed her up, and we sat and talked for a half hour, about good intentions and letting things go and memories never go away and nothing lasts forever and feeling sad about losses and that I still loved her more than anything else in the world, and we had a nice talk and kissed and made up.
So I said "Good Night" and I was about to get up and head back downstairs and she says 'Dad, there's something else...'
...and she pulls out a small cloth bag, carefully tied....
... and inside I find...
...all the nuts and bolts from the swing set that she had retrieved from the garage bin for keepsakes, after I left for the dump.
LMAO!
Daughters. (*sigh*)
Heaven help me.
